When Death comes, they said, he’ll be a pale man with long white hair, and his eyes, you will not see them.
“Why not?” I asked.
“He keeps them hidden,” my uncle said, “under the brim of his hat. The moment you see them is the moment you die.”
I didn’t believe him, but there were lots of things I didn’t believe in.
Like wearing seatbelts.
The crash was… hot, I think.
And he knocked on the window, that pale man. And he offered me his hand, and I could have refused.
But oh my Lord, he had beautiful eyes.